Sweet Vixen

am.

Most of the financial news reports that mentioned him were also favourable, admiring even, in their restrained fashion and by the time Sarah had finished her homework she was sinkingly aware she had crossed swords with a very powerful and important man. However, nothing that she had read made her like him any better. All that money, all those boardroom and bedroom successes. How could he not be arrogant? Conceited?

It was some time before she became aware of the pangs of hunger and realised that it was lunchtime and she was alone in the" office. She was just thinking of going out for a bite to eat when the phone rang.

'Sarah?' It was Julie, her voice raised over a back­ground of restaurant clatter.

'Hello. I wondered where you'd got to.'

'A last minute luncheon engagement.'

Hearing the suppressed note of excitement in her voice, Sarah didn't have to ask with whom.

'Having met the man in the flesh I can sympathise with your crass idiocy of this morning. Fathomless charm. It would be interesting to plumb the depths.'

'Rather you than me.' Sarah hadn't even received a puddle of charm from the man. 'What time will you be back?'

'I don't know ... I don't care,' floated the answer gaily. ‘I probably won't be back at all. I cunningly brought an idea or two with me to run up the flagpole, so we may spend the rest of the afternoon saluting. Incidentally, he wants a full staff meeting tomorrow morning—send a memo out, will you? If anything urgent comes up, I'll be at the hotel. I'll see you this evening.'

'This evening?'

'You haven't forgotten the Sappho launching, have you? I sent the invitation out to you. I want you to be there, Sarah, it's a major new line.'

'More flag flying?'

'It's a good way of keeping up our contacts . . . learning what's going on in an informal way. Talking of which, I'm having an informal party on Sunday afternoon. Coming?'

Sarah hesitated. 'Of course.’ Julie’s Sunday afternoon barbecues by the poolside of her lovely home were legen­dary and few people passed up the chance to attend. Everything was very relaxed, you didn't even feel obliged to make conversation if you didn't want to. Just swim and eat and lie in the sun. The only type of party Sarah did enjoy.

'I had forgotten about tonight, thanks for reminding me. What time?' 'Seven. And Sarah?' 'Yes?'

'Wear something. . .' she sniffed, 'different.'

Sarah hung up with a sigh. Sappho was a new cosmetics line coming on sale in New Zealand shortly and the American-based company was holding a 'happening' to introduce their product to the trade and media. They'd hired the top floor of the Intercontinental Hotel as the venue.

The trouble with me is that I'm becoming blasé about 'happenings', she told herself. As a novice she had gone to promotional evenings wide-eyed, but now they were just a small part of a full, demanding job.

CHAPTER THREE

By the time Sarah arrived at the Intercontinental Hotel everything was swinging. The noise-level was high, up­beat music competing with a voluble crowd, most of whom were watching a series of fantasy make-up demon­strations in one corner of the large restaurant. Drink was just as abundant as noise.

She greeted several people she knew and accepted a tall glass of something before being expertly cut out of the crowd by a young man from Sappho's advertising agency. Sarah glanced around the room while she listened pol­itely, managing to look interested and impressed as she wondered whether the preponderance of unfamiliar faces meant the evening would be more of a chore than usual.

'Hello, Sarah. I wonder if I might have a word with you? Excuse us, Peter.'

Sarah was whisked away to the other side of the room by a pretty girl wearing a stunning combination of black lurex 'boob tube' and slinky, skin-tight gold satin pants.

'Thanks, I think he was just getting his second wind,' said Sarah gratefully. Her rescuer was one of Rags' staff writers.

'You looked as though you might be building up to a yawn. I would have come over sooner but I didn't want to break up what might have been a promising encounter.'

The two girls chatted for a few minutes about what Chris thought of the Sappho range, then a short speech signalled the end of the fixed agenda for the evening and the arrival of a mouthwatering array of food laid out on long, white-covered tables.

'Oh goody, I'm famished,' said Chris, who could eat like a pig and never put on an ounce. She slanted Sarah a sly look. 'I don't suppose you have any room?' 'What?'

'A little bird tells me that you got your foot rather firmly wedged in your mouth this morning. Still there, is it?'

Sarah pulled a face. It had been too much to hope that Julie would keep her gaffe to herself, once she had seen the humorous possibilities.